


Verses

by UnlimitedHearts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Casual Sex, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is a concertgoer who wears eyeliner, Drarry is Endgame, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is So Done, Harry Potter is the idiot who did not see this coming, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Tension, Switch Draco Malfoy, Switch Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnlimitedHearts/pseuds/UnlimitedHearts
Summary: I feel all numb nowIs that a feeling?Like a plastic boxed orange, with no peel onI wanna waste, I wanna waste, I wanna waste awayNo family, no ties to pureblood society outside of his own name. Draco Malfoy has decided he's had enough and makes every bad decision he was never allowed to make before. He's going to indulge himself until he drops, and Harry Potter refuses to stand by and watch him drown alone. Does anyone else not care? Do they even notice? Do they even know just how badly Draco wants to implode? It doesn't matter because Harry won't let him.AKA- Draco is being a self-destructive shit and Harry is Not Having It.Titled previously as "amo: Wonderful Life"
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Other(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was recently listening to a Bring Me The Horizon song and I got like way lost in the sauce and I swear when I listened to those lyrics I could not get Draco Malfoy's face out of my head. It seems so like him, after something like The War, to want to indulge himself and keep indulging himself until he indulges himself right off a cliff. Metaphorically speaking, of course. In my head it'd make perfect sense for Draco to a) enmesh himself in Muggle culture and b) love Bring Me The Horizon. 
> 
> Fic is set in 2008/2009

_I feel all numb now  
Is that a feeling?  
Like a plastic boxed orange with no peel on.  
I wanna waste, I wanna waste, I wanna waste away. _

Loud music thrummed outside the walls of the venue, even out on the sidewalk you could feel the pavement vibrate. The heavy bass and electric guitar, the grit of it all along with the muffled voice of screaming in some incoherent version of English. Well-- Incoherent only if you didn’t already know what was being said, which of course Draco Malfoy did. This was one of his favourite bands after all, but at the moment he was absolutely not paying attention to the music. Instead, there was far more focus being paid to the feeling of a brick wall against his back, and the man on his knees currently sucking down his dick like he needed it to live. The back of his hand loosely covered his mouth trying to stifle the heavy breaths coming from him as this guy worked him over. There was no name given, no pleasantries exchanged. All he’d needed was a charged look between them, and an invite on a torn and stained napkin to get Draco’s intensely tight trousers around his ankles in the alley of the venue.

Whoever the mystery man was, he was awful at giving head but that didn’t really matter to the blond as he got a gloved hand in his blue hair, moving his hips off the wall and into his mouth. It’d been so long, even a shitty blowjob was fine by him if it got the job done. It didn’t hurt that his head was swimming thanks to that line of whatever he snorted earlier. Couldn’t have been _just_ cocaine in that but that also didn’t matter a what to Draco. The Muggles really had it made, didn’t they? Better music, better ‘fun’ drugs with less severe side effects, and even though Draco was sure there was a spell out there that made heated lube Muggles had figured that out too.

“Oh god…,” he choked, getting both his hands on his new best friends head, pushing him down against his cock. Whoever this was didn’t seem to mind though, electing to let Draco do as he pleased. It’d been a while, and he definitely didn’t last long after he’d started to fuck this strangers mouth, spilling down his throat with a heaved breath pushing his head down against the root. The man got up after that, and Draco had been through this enough times that he knew to ask no questions. The first casual encounter he’d had landed him in a month-long relationship with an absolute prick. It ended after the cheating, Draco’s cheating that is. His ex was the type to think nothing was wrong with stepping out, as long as he was the only one to do it. Clearly, this young stranger was new to this kind of thing, as he leaned in on Draco after he’d got his pants and trousers up, pawing at his neck.

“You gonna take me home and fuck me, Daddy?” He sounded hot and desperate, his voice dripping with lust. 

For a moment Draco’d almost done it, but he decided on a more non-committal answer.

“Get back inside, if I see you again they’ll have to stop me from fucking you on the bar.” He meant it too, though the chances of seeing him again would be slim to none considering that Draco had no plans to go back inside. Mr. Blue Hair was all for that answer however pulling in Draco for a hot kiss before sauntering back toward the entrance. As Draco’s eyes followed him (or rather followed his arse) he had to admit he might’ve looked good on his back. He had no plans to take anyone home this night, however. The ache of loneliness was enough to get him to say yes to a blowjob from a barely-twenty-something naive kid with electric blue hair, but not enough to take said kid back to his bed. 

Cold air whipped through the alley and Draco might’ve been cold if he hadn’t cast a warming charm on himself before coming out here. The wind was pleasant if a little strong, his loose blue t-shirt whipping up with it, the studs on his vest clinked against the wall as it too came to life. A blue light illuminated the alley, coming from the LED parked on the building opposite, advertising some brand of energy drink or another, though as far as he was concerned it also seemed to light up his soul. An everlasting blue starting in his heart and permeating outward. It’d been ten years since the end of The War, nine since Draco and the rest of his peers finished their eighth year at Hogwarts. The warmth of his breath frost up in the cold as a pale fog, the cold managed to seep into his centre despite the charm colouring him a deeper shade of the blue. 

The music roared on but the fire in his nerves died replaced with a sinking feeling, large and empty looking to swallow up everything in his path. He reached into his back pocket, taking out a pack of fags, placing one in his mouth. He lit it up and took a rather long drag, letting his head fall back against the brick wall as he blew out the smoke slowly, letting his mind wander aimlessly. His mind almost got lost until he heard the distinct sounds of a hard shoe sole against wet pavement, clicking down the asphalt toward him. Draco’s heart immediately leapt up into his throat as his head snapped toward the noise, hand already in his vest pocket to grab the handle of his wand. The body headed toward him jerked to a stop, and if only Draco could’ve seen the strangers face, he would’ve seen one of surprise.

“...Malfoy?” That cadence was unmistakable, he wouldn’t be able to forget if he tried, and Draco often tried. The blond’s lungs damn near stopped working, a breath dying in his throat replaced with a suffocating choking.  
“Fuck,” he grumbled, just his fucking luck, when forgetting seemed to already be difficult, life had a way of telling him it would be harder than he thought. The white-knuckled grip on wand loosened ever so slightly before his hand fell down to his side. “Hello, Potter. Been a while, hasn’t it?” Draco’s mouth etched itself into a smirk though it came out more like a lopsided grin as he sauntered over to Potter. It hadn’t been long, they’d only just seen each other on Friday.

“Are you drunk Malfoy??” Potter asked indignantly, taking a small step away from Draco. 

“Hah! I wish. No, and I’m not nearly as high as I’d like right now either.” A fact he was decidedly not happy about. Either he was gaining a tolerance or he’d just had some truly shite cocaine. 

“Er… Hang on, what?” Had Harry just heard right?

“Drugs, Potter, Muggles’ve got so many different kinds!” Draco sounded all too elated, standing proud in front of Harry, his hand reached out to play with his tie between his fingers while he made note of the Ministry Robes Harry was currently sporting. “Just got off work I’d expect?”

“I- Yeah I did, tonight was the House Elf Charity Event I thought-” Harry’s words died in his throat, he’d never expected to see Draco like this. Loose shirt, studded vest, impossibly tight black jeans, fingerless gloves and- Was that eyeliner? Was Draco Malfoy wearing eyeliner?

“Thought what? That I’d be there??” Draco laughed, proud and manic, doubling over and holding onto Harry’s shoulder. “Potter! You kill me, absolutely!” 

“Yeah actually, I did,” Harry said very matter-of-factly, pushing Draco off him. “It’s generally considered good practice to attend events you’re funding Malfoy.” 

The way he’d said Draco’s name soured him and made his blood curdle in his veins. All enthusiasm coursing through his body had died into something decidedly more hostile as he stepped back away from Harry. He placed the cigarette that had been dangling dangerously from his fingers back between his lips. “The event my _Mother_ put on, Potter,” he spat back, contempt colouring the edges of his voice.

“Even so!” Harry shout back at him, offended that Draco would even try and use that as an excuse. “Isn’t the whole point of these events to paint you as anything other than a slimy git? Works better when you’re there.” 

“Since when do you care what I do in my free time Potter?” If Potter thought he was annoyed he had another thing coming. Who the hell was this prat to ruin his buzz?? As if whatever Draco did in his free time was any of Potter’s business.

Draco’s patience had run out as Harry huffed, clearly annoyed, and the fire in his veins had rekindled. Purely out of malice and hate. “D’you know what? I’m over listening to you embarrass yourself trying to come up with a retort.” Dry and cynical, that’s all he ever was around Harry. He flicked the ash away from his fag as he walked past Harry back to the venue entrance.

“I’m not finished with you Malfoy! Where the hell d’you think you’re going?!” Harry shouted angrily, grabbing Draco by the shoulder to wheel him back around. In response, Draco whipped around and grabbed Harry’s wrist twisting up and giving him a hard push against his chest.

“I’m going wherever the hell I like, Scarhead! I’m going to get myself high on a Saturday night and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” His eyes had lowered into slits, choleric temperament leaking through every word. A low, dark, and dry laugh escaped him as he spoke again, the edges of his voice taking on a gruff tone, “And I bet that just kills you doesn’t it Potter? Oh, I bet it just murders you on the inside to see me able to do whatever I like, doesn’t it.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice and onto the floor, spreading up through his body as he stepped in it.

Harry had no immediate response, the wind having been knocked out of him which he tried to gain back as he watched Draco walk away. The anger stayed in his chest even as Draco was removing himself from the situation, and he couldn’t help but shout back at the blond, “And what exactly makes you think I’d want to stop you, Malfoy?” Venomous and mad, just what Draco had always expected of Harry.

“Absolutely nothing,” he responded, snatching the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it to the ground before stepping on it rather violently. “I want to waste away Potter, and you couldn’t stop me even if you did want to. But it’s a damn good thing you don’t eh?” The edges of an unseen smile coloured his tone as he rounded the corner. Leaving Harry to stand alone in the alley, with a sore wrist and a horrendous ache in his chest. Though it was nowhere near where Draco had pushed him. It was deeper and managed to settle nicely into his Solar Plexus.

All he remembered for sure was inhaling a few more lines and finding that blue-haired angel again damn near the end of the last set, and taking him home before the band had finished. The rest of the weekend was a blur for Draco, the only things clearly evident in his messy apartment had been sex, alcohol, and yet more sex. Monday morning he woke up with a groan, only to find Mr. Blue Hair going down on him, he definitely wasn’t going to complain. He still hadn’t learned his name, but he didn’t need to know his name to enjoy him, especially since he wasn’t going to be seeing him ever again. He looked at his clock for a moment, before letting his head fall back against the pillow moving his hips up into his mouth for a short while before he pulled off him. 

“Quickie for the road?” Blue Hair asked, turning around and bending over onto his bed.

Draco didn’t even think about it as he grabbed a condom from his nightstand, ripping the packaging open and rolling it over his cock. He had every intention of prepping Blue Hair but found he had already taken care of that particular task. Biting a low moan he slid into him slow, it didn’t take long though, for Draco to absolutely start drilling into the thin body under him. 

Heavy and high pitched moans filled the room and every time that his weekend best friend seemed to get used to a particular position Draco would switch it up. His hips moved unrelentingly into the other man, hands grabbing at every available surface. When their lips weren’t connected Draco was busy putting his to work to mark him up. Just a little something to remember him by, as if the soreness he’d no doubt put into his back wasn’t reminder enough. He came not long after Blue Hair did, filling up the condom before he slid out. Even after they were done, they made out for a while before Draco’s alarm went off signalling him to actually get up and get ready for work. 

They pulled apart wordlessly, Draco had been through this routine enough times that he’d gotten his suit on in relatively short order. Distinctive and gaudy Ministry robes had been kept in a corner of his closet and his wand in a breast pocket so as to not field uncomfortable questions from Blue Hair. “Where’d you get those scars from?” Blue Hair piped up, and Draco couldn’t help but feel his heart race. That was one uncomfortable question he could never avoid.

“Got sliced up in school,” he responded simply, slowly turning back to the large full body mirror sitting on his wall. Blue Hair didn’t respond to that as he pulled his clothes on, though he did move to Draco to wrap his arms around his waist from behind.

“Will I see you again?” He asked, running his hands up and down Draco’s side.

“Oh? You want to?” Draco asked with a smirk, turning around to place his hands on his waist, “Didn’t get enough of me, darling?” Blue Hair bit his lip, unable to hide his smile and he shook his head, pulling his body flush with Draco’s.

There was no way Draco was going to say yes, he never did. He wasn’t the kind of person to ever want to stay too long and make himself a fixture in people’s minds. “I’ll make you a deal, if I see you at a show again I’ll reserve you a seat in my lap.” That seemed enough to placate Blue Hair who giggled happily, nodding in agreement. Too bad Draco had no intention of remembering him if he did see him.

Draco wasn’t a complete cad, only mostly a cad, he made the guy breakfast before he all but pushed Blue Hair out of his apartment. The guy still seemed to be giddy as he left, waving his fingers goodbye before Draco closed the door in his face. He let a rather annoyed breath go, turning the deadbolt and chaining up the door. The clingy ones were always the worst, it meant he couldn’t get Starbucks before he went to work, there was always a danger he’d run into them just outside. Coffee at home would do for the moment, he figured, though there was nothing quite like a Caramel Macchiato after a good weekend out. 

His watch beeped angrily at him as Draco pulled his Ministry robes on, and he couldn’t help but snap at it, “I’m getting along, alright! Shut up!” He didn’t know why it felt good to admonish the empty air but it did. Sometimes he liked to pretend he was throwing insults at Potter as he did, though he couldn’t imagine why Harry Potter would ever deign to set foot in his room, especially on a Monday morning. 

Draco didn’t often Floo to work, every time he did he was sure he could feel the flames and taste the ash in his mouth, though those were probably just a result of his painfully awful memories. Not that it mattered, he was an adult, he could keep a handle on his emotions. Usually, anyway, it was harder when the second he was in the main hall of the Ministry, in front of that godawful statue of “Magical Brethren”. 

This new one had all the same figures the old one did; a witch, a wizard, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, only they were all placed a little more artfully in order of size. The Centaur had been in a galloping position, the witch and wizard in the centre with their wands in the sky, the house-elf and goblin stood atop a pile of bricks and books. It was meant to symbolize how they had all been equal, rather than the old one being a monument to how great witches and wizards were. 

Draco thought they were both disgusting symbols of vanity, but at least they were better than the far more horrifying statue the Death Eaters had put up. He’d never admit it, but that thing featured heavily in his nightmares. He liked to avoid it whenever he was able, a disgusting slimy feeling crawled over his body every time he was presented with it. Today he couldn’t however, and today as he walked forward into the atrium, who should’ve greeted him, but Harry Potter, waving him down. Draco was already dreading what kind of day this would end up being, greeting him with a roll of his eyes.

Save for the parts that he and Potter were separated into their respective departments, Potions Laboratory was the dominion over which Draco Malfoy ruled and he was sure Potter had to be doing _something_ as Head Auror, Potter clung onto him as if they were best mates. If you asked him though, Harry was a piss poor Auror. He only managed to get an “exceeds expectations” on his N.E.W.T.’s thanks to Snape’s bloody book, and the rest had to have been nepotism. But when they weren’t busy working, Potter was doing his best to put the annoyance of their old school rivalry into Draco all over again. Flagging him down, hell-bent on following him around. It didn’t end until Draco relented to have lunch with the tosser. 

It was awkward sitting outside on this absolutely gorgeous foggy London day, surrounded by other men and women in their own business attire. The robes would’ve been a dead giveaway, but Draco’d made the smart decision to tell Harry it’d be best to leave them. Muggle society wasn’t much for robes, and truthfully neither was Draco, never had been. It was a custom he’d happily adopted along with many others. Like headphones during work wherein, he blasted his music whilst doing up whatever the Ministry needed. Usually, his job consisted of filling up the Auror reserves for their standard potions kit, as well as brewing Polyjuice for whatever cases they’d needed as well. It also consisted of whatever the Ministry’s other many departments needed. All the way from Level One to Level Seven, The Department of Mysteries (of which he was technically considered a part) and Courtrooms included. 

It was rather dull and long-winded, and he’d just finished giving his job description to Harry as they found a quiet enough area of the Trafalgar Square to sit in, the brunet having just inundated him with curious questions about his job. On most days Draco went out for lunch but he decided he couldn’t with Harry deciding to dog him today. He’d just make himself something before he had a kip off at home, there was no way he could eat anyway with Harry yammering away with anything that had seemingly popped into his head.

He was just saying something about a recent case when Draco groaned and narrowed his eyes into slits, sizing Harry up. It seemed effective enough at shutting the man up, and that was a good enough reaction for Draco to ask the question that had been burning away at him since Harry’d spent all morning, and now all afternoon with him.

“What’re you playing at, Potter?” Said less like a question and more like a statement. 

“Wha’d’ you mean?” Harry answered almost too innocently.

“Don’t play stupid you wanker. We’ve worked together in the same ruddy building for seven sodding years. Not once have you… _hounded_ me like this! It’s school all over again!” Draco crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, trying to erect a barrier between him and the other man.

“I- Well that’s because-” The brunet gave an annoyed and gruff sound, rubbing his eyes between his forefinger and thumb before snapping up to look at Draco. The veneer of civility had worn off it seemed because his eyebrows were knit together, his lips barely hiding a sneer. “D’you wanna know the truth, Malfoy?”

Draco smiled. 

“The truth! Said with such vim and vigour! Yes, I would quite love a helping of truth!”

“The other night, when I saw you outside of that…”

“It’s called a concert Potter, you might know that if you’d had a bit of fun every so often,” he snarked, leaning forward to pinch Harry’s nose. 

Harry blushed bright, swatting Malfoy’s hand away indignantly.

“I know what a concert is! And I have plenty of fun! That’s not the-” He groaned and closed his eyes, though Draco could see he’d rolled them behind his lids. “I guess I just- I realised I don’t really know you, Malfoy.”

“And that’s a problem for you now is it?”

“Yes! It is!” Harry replied pointedly, his eyes whipping up to make eye contact with Draco. “It is a problem! And I want to get to know you! Is that so bad?!” His fists collided with the table they were sitting at, earning a few looks from the Muggles nearby.

“Why don’t you speak up a bit I could hardly hear you!”

It was only then that Harry realized just how loud he’d been, a light pink blush spreading across his face. Draco would’ve thought it was cute if he wasn’t so utterly annoyed at Harry’s antics. Something didn’t sit right in his chest, it seemed far too much of a coincidence for Harry to only just now want to get to know him. He’d only had a decade for this, but one run-in with him in front of a concert and all of a sudden he’d become interested? That didn’t make any sense to him, even when he took into account that that’d probably been the first time Harry had seen him outside of any academic setting. But he wasn’t going to bring it up again, it was far too tempting to see where this went. “Alright Potter, you’ve got my curiosity,” Draco said with a cool smirk. “You wanna be friends? You got it.” His watch beeped at him again and as if on cue Draco rolled his eyes, giving it a press before getting up from the chair.

“What is it?” Harry asked, giving a weird kind of stare to the watch on Draco’s wrist. “Also, what’s that?” He pointed at the watch.

“...Potter, you can’t be serious,” Draco responded, but Harry still seemed a little lost. “It’s a watch, and my alarm just went off. Lunch’s almost over.”

“I know what a watch is Malfoy, I’m just a little confused as to why you have one.”

“What’s that meant to mean? D’you think I’m technologically inept?”

“W-what?? No! I just meant-- I didn’t take you the type to be into Muggle culture is all.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose that’s yet another thing you know about me now Potter.”

“Was that a wizard band you were seeing on Saturday night?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Draco responded with a gentle smile. “I’ll give you this one for free, Muggles have it made. Leagues ahead of us in some places, we could learn a thing or two from them.”

That had definitely been a surprise to Harry, as evident by the surprised look on his face, to which Draco had started laughing. If Harry wanted to get to know him, Draco would provide, entirely rough and uncensored. Either he would have to get used to the “real” him or he’d run in the other direction. Draco had figured the latter, but he was genuinely curious as to what the former might’ve looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorta making this up as I go, but I have a loose idea for plot. This'll be my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic and I honestly want to finish it. So any encouragement you have to give me I would love to hear it!
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more set up for Draco, his relationship to Blaise, and just how much of a cad he can really be. Oh-- and don't you go thinking these two aren't still going to argue their heads off at each other. Harry and Draco live to argue after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the name of the fic! I wasn't thinking about a title when I first uploaded, I just named it after the album and song I was listening to at the time. This was originally meant to be a oneshot but the more I wrote the more I didn't want it to be a oneshot. So I changed the title to more accurately reflect how I feel about it! It's like, different verses reflecting what Draco might be thinking or feeling since this is a very Draco-centric fic.
> 
> This chapter contains some Draco/Blaise. I swear this is still a Drarry fic and Drarry is endgame but god I just love Draco and Blaise's characters together so much. I feel like they have a good push and pull and in this fic I wanted to play with the concept of what a deeper relationship with them might look like. Extra points if you know what song the starting verse of the chapter comes from!

_I can't help my feelings I'll go out of my mind  
These players come to get me 'cause they'd like my behind  
I can't love my business if I can't get a trick  
Down on Santa Monica where tricks are for kids._

Blaise’s laugh was gorgeous, hard and rough around the edges, self-assured in its existence, Draco had always thought his laugh was gorgeous. Even when it was mocking and directed at his ego. The blond pout into his arm as Blaise filled their booth with raucous laughter after Draco had explained his latest predicament to him, of Harry deciding to be all buddy-buddy after sixteen or seventeen odd years of malice. Somehow it managed to be even louder than the rest of the patrons at this pub. Draco wondered if a surreptitious hex under the table would catch the eyes of any of the Muggles nearby. It was a very serious issue! But here Blaise was, his best mate in the whole world, laughing his arse off as if it was a joke!

“I’ll have you know I’m intensely not happy with this!” Draco snapped, bringing his head off the table. “He’s up to something, surely! Why else would he be all interested! Knob-head…” His head deflated again, resting into the crook of his elbow. 

“I’m sorry!” Blaise exclaimed through his laugh, keeping a hand on his stomach to brace himself. Clearly, he wasn’t very sorry at all. “It’s just this is perfect irony innit? You spend five years waxing poetic about how badly you want him to be your friend, now he’s offering and you don’t even want it!”

“I said I’d do it!” Draco snapped defensively, bolting upright to stare Blaise down, though it wasn’t working well. The laugh he’d held in for all of three seconds to stare at Draco bursting through the dam into a loud guffaw. That had definitely earned a few lingering stares of some of the Muggles nearby, but that didn’t seem to deter him as he entered another fit of laughter.

Draco was just glad Pansy had been too busy to be here otherwise, she’d be laughing at him too he was sure. After a small eternity, Blaise seemed to finally quiet down a few stray chuckles leaving him before he looked at Draco, who was determined to meld his forehead with the wood, staying face down against the table. Terrible idea. Who the hell knew what the fuck was on this table. “Draco I have to ask, what exactly _is_ so bad about Potty trying to get to know you?” Blaise asked plainly, throwing him a smirk before taking a drink of his pint. All Draco could do was shrug lamely as he started to get up, leaning back against the plush pleather of the booth seat. 

“Are you done?” Blaise nodded calmly, “Are you sure you’re done now?” Blaise nodded again at Draco’s question, and he finally let himself relax, taking the first sip of his own now lukewarm pint. 

“You haven’t answered my question Draco,” he said, setting the large glass back down against the table with a soft _thud_ , “What exactly is so bad about this?”

“Because it’s Potter! Come on, Zabini, do try and keep up! He’s clearly up to something, he has to be!” Draco sounded cynical, defensive even. It was nothing Blaise wasn’t used to though, dealing with the many moods of Draco Malfoy.

“Have you ever thought once, with that brilliant mind of yours, Draco, that he might actually want to get to know you?” Draco just shook his head with a blank expression and Blaise couldn’t help but snicker just slightly, causing the blond to throw a crumpled-up napkin in his direction. “Ah! Alright alright, no need to resort to violence!” Blaise mocked, but Draco just huffed in disdain.

“Please take this seriously Blaise, alright? For me?” Draco put on his best puppy-dog eyes, but all he got was the same napkin to his face. “Fine! I’ll deal with Potter myself!” 

“Draco honestly, could you be any more dramatic?” The blond threw him a look as if he was about to challenge that statement, but Blaise cut him off before he could any ideas. “Listen, you said he ran into outside of The Marquee right?” Draco nodded, taking another sip of his pint. “And you said you were wasted.”

“Correction, I was not wasted, I was barely buzzed on some very shitty coke. You know I don’t mix drugs and alcohol.” As if that were at all an important distinction to make or something to be very proud of.

“Whatever, you weren’t in your right mind, and you were giddy. What’s happened is so obvious, Draco, I’m surprised Potter hasn’t held up a big bright neon sign for you to stare right into.” He hated when Blaise did that, acted so self-important and assured as if he knew all the answers. Though in Draco’s experience, Blaise was a rather astute bloke.

“Do enlighten me Zabini,” he said dryly, taking a swig of his pint to choke back on his own creeping sarcasm.

“He’s worried.”

That- was not the answer he was expecting. Draco stopped for a moment, his grip on his pint tightening into a white-knuckled hold while his mind raced. Blaise sat back, enjoying his pint for a moment seemingly entirely too content to let Draco have a conundrum. And a conundrum it was, in loops and twists and turns chasing after itself in an endless Mobius strip. The idea that Harry would ever worry about him seemed entirely too ludicrous, but then again he had no better explanation for why he’d suddenly be so interested. It was in that moment his own words came rushing back to him like a suppressed memory, not suppressed by his own doing, however. 

_‘I want to waste away Potter, and you couldn’t stop me even if you did want to.’_

Draco’s cheek collided with the wood of the table again as Blaise turned to look at him, a small smile decorating his stupidly good looking face as Draco glared at him. “I hate it when you’re right.” All Blaise did was shrug at him as he finished off his pint, dropping the mug to the table.

“Are you going to finish your beer, or are you just going to sit there looking pitiful?” Blaise snickered, reaching forward to ruffle Draco’s hair, a practice that much annoyed the blond. Annoyed him enough that he sat bolt upright just to get away from the sensation.

He sighed gently, sitting in the din of the pub with Blaise for a moment as he drank down his pint. Why would Harry worry though, he’s the one who implied he wouldn’t even want to stop him, and it’s not exactly like they’d ever cared about each other before. But if you asked Blaise, Pansy or Theo that, they’d have contradicted Draco’s conviction. As Draco would’ve put it _‘It’s a bloody good thing no one’s asking them then!’_ “Look even if he is worried--”

“And he is, you just said I was right after all,” Blaise piped up, throwing Draco a very large and bright smile.

“Shut it, quell your vanity for two seconds please- even if he is worried, this seems an awful backward way for him to go about it. He’s much more accustomed to stalking and voyeurism. It’s half the bloody reason he’s an Auror after all. Harry Potter’s version of worrying is to trail a man until he’s scared of his own shadow.” Draco finished his sentence with a swig of his pint, polishing off the last and nodding to the door. Blaise seemed to agree that it was time to go, getting up immediately to leave. 

It was in moments like these Draco was thankful he had the foresight to pay ahead of time as he made his way to the entrance with Blaise, arm-in-arm while worming their way through the sea of people. He didn’t want to deal with settling up a tab when all he wanted to do was to go home and have a lie. Usually, they’d break off when they were around their friends, but as they were alone they walked together still, arms hooked around each other standing awful close. Draco had long since considered Blaise to be one of his best friends, definitely his most trustworthy. Pansy was lovely and he’d take an Unforgivable for her, she was definitely his number one in most regards. But there was a kinship between Draco and Blaise that he couldn’t often describe, they were just close, he’d tell you. 

In truth, Blaise had been the one to get closest to Draco after The War, even if he didn’t understand most of Draco’s quirks. He’d definitely not seen as much as the blond had, but he had been the most patient with him, and the one most willing to change. Pansy changed her opinions in her own time, Theo… was still working on it, but Blaise had taken up the charge with Draco, declaring openly, “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” As they walked down the dark pavement together, recently wetted by a spattering of rain earlier in the evening, they clung onto each other sharing silent charged looks and warm smiles. The blond rest his head against the slightly taller man’s shoulder, and neither of them commented on it. He couldn’t help but wonder if Harry could ever be as amiable to him as Blaise was. 

As they came up to his building, a large modern-looking high-rise, a shock of blue hair standing next to the entrance immediately caught Draco’s eye. “Bollocks,” he spat, stopping in his tracks a metre or so away from his building. Blaise looked at him curiously, but all Draco did in response was to nod in the direction of the blue-haired man. All at once, Blaise seemed to understand what he’d meant.

“How do you manage to get so many clingy types, Draco?” Blaise put the question forth as if he didn’t already know the answer. Draco was gorgeous and damn good in bed. Of course, he’d get more than his fair share of people who didn’t want to let him go. He reached into his inside breast pocket, worming a gold band onto Draco’s left ring finger.

“Dunno but I’m getting rather sick of it.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a ring of his own, slipping it easily around Blaise’s ring finger as well. It was routine at this point. Should either of them find themselves in a predicament where someone just didn’t seem to want to let go, their immediate solution was to temporarily take on the reigns of married life. At least for all of four or five minutes, maybe a few hours if they felt so inclined to mess with someone.

“D’you wanna mess with him a bit?” Blaise asked, throwing Draco a wry smile. 

It didn’t take much convincing for Draco to say yes.

Draco walked forward alone, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, about to pass by Blue Hair when, speak of the devil himself, Blue Hair waved him down enthusiastically. He tried to steady the roll of his eyes as he approached Blue Hair, mustering up the most pulled back smile he could. “Hey!” The young man called happily as he walked forward to approach Draco on the mostly empty street. Draco could only hope that Blaise managed to Apparate safely inside the lobby without being seen as he approached Blue Hair.

“Oh, hello-” he greeted rather stiffly, looking down at his one night stands bright smile before walking ahead. “Didn’t I tell you this morning--”

“Yeah, I know,” Blue Hair responded with a bashful little blush. If he hadn’t already done this exact thing countless times, Draco would’ve felt bad for what he was about to do. “I just had so much fun, and I don’t know I thought we looked kinda good together you know? I’m Will!”

Draco only hummed in a non-committal response as he kept his expression even but kind, as he pulled his hand out of his pocket to open the door to the lobby of his building. Gleaming white and pristine, Draco couldn’t help but feel proud as he stepped in, Blue Hair stepping after him. “Nice to… officially meet you, Will,” he responded cooly, turning to face him in the large and very well lit lobby. He brought his left hand up to his face, scratching somewhere on his cheek to flash off the ring that certainly wasn’t there last night. He saw the man he now knew as Will throw him a quizzical look before he continued, “I’m Dr--”

“Draco!” Both he and Will snapped their heads in the direction of the booming voice. The younger man’s face fell as he saw Blaise, all tall and broad and sun-kissed walking toward them with a purpose. The wheels slowly started turning as he looked between the two men. “It’s nearly ten! Where have you been we were supposed to have dinner with the Greengrass’ tonight remember??”

“Damn! Oh, I’m so sorry darling- I entirely forgot,” he smiled apologetically, reaching his arm out to take Blaise’s hand to pull him in for a quick kiss. “I was so caught up at work and then I-- Oh! I really am a basket case today. Blaise, this is Will!” He said brightly turning his head to face will again. “Will darling this is my husband Blaise!”

“Y-your… Husband?” Will asked with a shaky voice, a tight and not at all happy smile forming on his lips. “You’re… You’re married?” His eyes, almost as bright as his hair darting between the two men, finally settling on the matching rings on their fingers. Draco couldn’t help but smile wide.

“Happily so! For nearly four years now.” He looked at Blaise with warm, love-struck eyes while Blaise only laughed.

“Well technically it’s not a ‘marriage’ as such, but ‘civil partnership’ seems so longwinded,” Blaise said oh-so-giddily. He shook his head for a moment before throwing Will a sympathetic glance. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to get so technical! It’s very nice to meet you, Will.” Blaise thrust his left hand out for Will to shake. And he did, albeit weakly, his eyes fixated on the gleaming gold band standing out against his dark skin.

“Yeah… good to meet you…” A shaky breath left him as he looked between them both, wondering if he should mention to Blaise that he’d only, just this morning, had his husband stuffed deep inside him. But looking at that gleaming smile on Blaise’s face… he just couldn’t, and who knew how he’d react toward him even if he did know. “I uh… I should get going actually, I didn’t realise how late it was… It was good to see you again Draco,” he said all too hurriedly, balling up his fists at his side.

The pair watched as Will stormed off, a pair of matching devious grins etching itself into the couple’s mouths before they ended up laughing together. Loud and boisterous, echoing through the stark white lobby. They started ambling toward the elevator, hands still tight on each other’s waist as Draco called it down. It’d been a while since either of them had to put up the Husband excuse, and while thinking it was great fun he couldn’t help but hang onto Blaise just a little tighter turning to look at him as their laughter died down. “I was wondering, it’s been a while,” he bit his lip slightly before continuing to speak, his eyes darting to Blaise’s lips, “How would you like to keep the charade up, just a little while longer?” Draco dragged his finger across Blaise’s chest, pulling him so they could be flush up against each other.

“Mmm is that right, Mr. Malfoy-- or shall I be calling you Mr. Zabini tonight?” Draco’s heart stopped for a moment at his friend’s flirtation but didn’t necessarily find it uncomfortable, or at all uninviting.

“You can call me whatever you like darling, I’m yours.”

“That right? In sickness and in health? You’re mine every night you think you have a good chance of getting me in your bed.” Draco blushed as Blaise purred into his ear, but he wasn’t at all wrong.

“Is that so bad? You wouldn’t have married me if you weren’t into me. After all, it is ‘til death do us part, isn’t it?” 

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, and Blaise pushed him in before either of them could say anything more, his mouth was immediately on Draco’s, just like routine, they’d done this so many times it was burned into their muscles. The blond’s mind swam in the feeling of him, tongues twisted around each other, muffled moans spilt into his best mates mouth as Blaise felt him up over his suit. He could only just barely register the sound of Blaise having hit the button to his condo’s floor, not that he was paying much attention to his surroundings anymore, the hand that had stuffed itself in his pants at a feverish pace was far more interesting.

It didn’t matter what they were, because to Draco the current answer was always satisfactory. They were best mates, having fun as all best mates do. Who really gave a shit _how_ they had their specific brand of fun? Draco got the door to his flat open quickly, as quick as he could anyway with Blaise biting rather feverishly at his neck. The second the door was open, Draco turned and pulled Blaise in, slamming it shut behind them as they got their mouths on each other again. 

They liked to role play when they did this as if they were together, like a real freshly married couple. Passionate and hungry and desperate to feel what they felt only the other could provide. Their clothes came off in a fever pitch, scattered all over Draco’s flat haphazardly. The build-up was usually quick, foreplay wasn’t what either of them wanted beyond standard preparation, at least it wasn’t what Draco wanted at this moment. At this moment he wanted to be bent over the back of his sofa, screaming Blaise’s name as the other man fucked into him. There weren’t many people Draco would bottom for, but Blaise was absolutely one of those people. 

He screamed loud and unashamed, clutching the top of his couch with white knuckles as Blaise drilled into him unrelentingly. Sweet nothings were exchanged between thrusts, positions changed as they made their way through the flat back to Draco’s bed between their rounds. It was hardly soft and sweet, no pomp and circumstance between the two, it was just lust. Pure, raw lust taking the shape of something akin to a couple. They toed the line, neither of them wanted this permanently or too long, but one night every so often where they could play pretend? That suited them just fine.

The idea of going past mere play and making it serious was one that had only occurred to them once before they realised just how much they’d actually hate each other as a couple. It took hours of talking and a sleepless night filled with a passion much similar to what they were currently partaking in for them to eventually come to the conclusion that they simply weren’t meant for each other. And as far as the two of them were concerned there was nothing wrong with that, the love they held for each other was different, not like anyone else understood. Pansy had put it rather succinctly one night that, “If you’re going on outings and shagging, what’s the difference between that and dating?” 

Sometimes Draco liked to mull over the question in his head when Blaise decided he’d leave early for the night rather than stay in the afterglow and keep up the charade. He wasn’t an unattractive man, he and Draco got on famously, they were already thick as thieves. Blaise was a perfect partner in most areas, neat and tidy, respectful, charming to be around and the sex was great. But even as he thought endlessly about the list of pros, it never felt right to him, being with Blaise. Mostly because they were such good friends, why would he ever want to give that up? Then there was the small problem that he just wasn’t interested in the man romantically. And for all the veneers Draco put up, he was a romantic at heart.

The golden ring that had earlier been on Blaise’s finger shone in the dim light of his fireplace, turned every so often between his long fingers. It was a fake, as was the one that he was sure sat in Blaise’s pocket, they got them on a whim for no other reason than to spend money on an object of perceived value. They were young at the time, and everything they thought had to be intensely poetic. Draco was sure there was a reason but at the ripe age of twenty-seven, he couldn’t tell you what that reason was. The fire felt warm on his skin as the wind let out an assault outside, he could hear it through even closed windows and the feeling of loneliness crept back into Draco’s chest. The blue tattooed on his heart only spread outward as he looked over the ring, setting it with an air of finality on his coffee table. 

Part of him figured it might be a good idea to settle down with Blaise even though he didn’t want to, the other part of him thought that a good solution to his problems was copious amounts of red wine. The latter was what he’d settled on this evening along with the blaring of his favourite album on high. It was often good enough catharsis for his loneliness but something tugged at his heartstrings and he found there was no relaxing for him. It was strange. Draco stared at his fireplace for a moment, Potter had given him access to his Floo, and the temptation to bother him burned in his core.

Draco found he couldn’t go, not because anything was stopping him, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. On any other occasion, he’d’ve been more than happy to go bother Potter for a while, but now he just seemed a little too vulnerable. The rest of the night was spent getting wine drunk and listening to sad songs, all the while Draco wondered what it would’ve been like to have someone there with him.

\--

“You’re absolutely out of your mind Potter!”

“And you’re a plonker! D’you have any idea how lucky you are to be here??”

“Oh, why don’t you remind me, Scarhead! Why don’t you remind all of us how great Saint Harry Potter is!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Parading around like you own the Auror Department! Did mummy not teach you about humility?”

“As if your deadbeat Death Eater dad did any better--!”

“At least I have a father!”

“At least I know my mum loved me!”

“ _T_ _hat’s it!!”_

The sound of their screaming was immediately drowned out by the sound of a fight breaking out. The sickening crack of fist on flesh rang out in the Atrium of the Ministry, right next to that bloody obscene statue that shone in the light streaming through the top. In seconds both Harry and Draco were on the floor wrestling one on top of the other in a bid to gain an upper hand, punches being thrown left and right to down the other. It wasn’t long before Aurors had pulled them off each other. Draco had to say he was extremely proud of the bruise he’d left on Harry’s disgustingly bold cheekbone, but he could tell Harry was just as proud that he was currently doubled over in the arms of the Auror that had him, clutching at his side.

Without much pomp or circumstance, they’d been carted off to Minister Shacklebolts office, sat down in large plush chairs in front of his mahogany desk. Draco hadn’t been in here since he was interviewing for the Potions Master position, and back then they were still trying to rid the area of everything Pious Thicknesse had put in. Or rather-- What Voldemort had put in here to monitor operations at The Ministry.

The area was warmer now. A large blue Turkish rug spread out on the expanse of wooden floorboards, the colour of a warm brown to match the desk. A semi-permanent fire crackled in the fireplace next to the Ministers desk, decorated with odd bits and bobs from his travels. Draco didn’t recognize many of them but he did recognize a Sneakoscope and a Probity Probe. Both within hands reach of the ornate looking chair sitting at the head of the desk. Gold filigree decorated the frame of the chair while soft-looking green velvet made up the back and cushions. The only two sources of light came from the fireplace and a very large floor to ceiling window that streamed in light from the outside.

Paintings now decorated the wall, of previous Ministers (though it seemed to be deliberately missing one Pious Thicknesse), and it reminded Draco much of the Headmasters Office in Hogwarts. Warm, inviting and welcoming under the rule of someone who wanted to be seen as such. Kingsley Shacklebolt didn’t necessarily want to be seen as too accommodating to anyone, but seeing as his term as Minister oversaw the rebuilding of Wizard society, it made sense for him to want to evoke that feeling. Right now, Kingsley wasn’t here, and the warm welcome environment felt too oppressive and suffocating.

“This is all your fault.” A snide remark from the brunet sitting next to him spat as if poison meant to burn Draco.

“My fault?!” He admonished whipping his head to look at Harry, snickering gently at the way he was currently holding a pack of ice to his face.

“Keep your laughs to yourself Malfoy! You don’t seem to be faring much better.” That was true enough, as he was hugging to his side, an identical ice pack. It was Harry’s turn to giggle and just then the large double doors behind them opened with a loud _bang_ and all at once, Draco’s face turned pale.

He couldn’t even turn around to see Kingsley walk in thanks to the immense pain at his side, but more than that he couldn’t look the man in the eye. Kingsley had taken a chance, hiring him, he promised he wouldn’t get into trouble, he promised he’d changed. And today he was caught in a fistfight with _The bloody Chosen One_ over a stupid fucking fountain as if he were a teenager all over again. The doors slammed shut behind them, shaking the floors as Kingsley walked between the chairs to stand directly in front of them, his stylish robes swishing behind him as he turned around to look at them, a stern expression on his face.

Silence came over the room as if Kingsley were waiting for either of them to speak, but once he found that neither of them would, he opened his mouth instead. “Explain yourselves,” he said simply, his deep voice both stern and yet… exasperated.

“Well you see sir--”

“I don’t really know how to…”

They started at the same time, looking at each other lamely before turning away. Minister Shacklebolts mouth deepened into a frown before he let go of a sigh, rubbing his eyes between his forefinger and his thumb. “Auror Potter,” he started, and Draco noticed Harry sit up a little straighter, “Go wait outside, I’d like to have a word alone with Mr. Malfoy.” The look of concern on Harry’s face didn’t go amiss, but he didn’t argue as he stood up, nodded, and turned on his heel to leave, but not before giving Draco a sympathetic look. 

Once Harry had left, the oppressive tightness in his chest only got worse as he attempted to look anywhere but at Kingsley. It seemed, however, that he was not going to let that happen. “Draco,” he said his name calmly, though the blond could feel the tension in his voice as he used it, “Would you care to explain what happened?” Draco sat there a moment, looking at the floor before looking up at Kingsley, making eye-contact with him.

“I-- Potter wanted to see me after work… I had said I was busy, but he’s been hounding me all week… I couldn’t avoid him forever so I said alright--”

“I think you know I’m not interested in your evening plans, Draco.” A heavy sigh left the blond’s chest as he nodded, wincing only slightly at the pain in his side.

“We were sitting there, and I mentioned that I didn’t like the unity statue… It’s not like it’s a secret, everyone knows I think it’s disgustingly garish! Well-- Everyone but Potter, it seems. He got offended, and the argument devolved into me being ungrateful for what I’ve got. Because of…” Draco didn’t need to finish that particular sentence, Kingsley knew well enough what he meant. “Anyway, I told him I never asked him for his statement at The Trials. That I didn’t owe him anything, he said it wasn’t _about_ me _owing him_ it was about being happy for what I did have--” He looked away and sighed once more, rubbing away at his side and letting his head fall to the floor. “Then it just turned petty from there.”

Minister Shacklebolt didn’t seem too moved by his story but then he exhaled gently before speaking once more. “Draco.” The way he said it made the blond snap his head up to look at Kingsley, the pit of anxiety over losing his job settled deep into his stomach, but it seemed the Ministers expression softened. If only just slightly. “Draco I’m not going to sack you, you can put that thought out of your mind.” At that Draco’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but it didn’t seem like Kingsley was done speaking, “You have an exemplary record, seven years without incident. It wouldn’t be right to fire you over something so small--”

“Small?!” Draco piped up, the anxiety in his voice becoming clear, “Minister, I punched _Harry Potter_! Saviour _Harry Potter_! That’s not the same as punching just anyone!”

“Draco, if you would,” it stunned him just how calm Kingsley seemed to be at all this, “Harry Potter is just another man who works here at The Ministry. He’s not any more or less special because of what he’s done-- _Even_ if you don’t think so. He gets no special treatment from me.” Draco didn’t think that was entirely true, he certainly should have if he didn’t. It made no sense why he wouldn’t get treated specially. “What happened today was wrong, but mistakes happen. You can consider this a verbal warning, and I shall be taking away your Assistant for the next week.”

That’s it? No privileges revoked? No sacking? No temperamental argument about how no one should touch Harry Potter? Draco let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and sat back in the chair, though his heart was still going rapid-fire in his chest, at least he knew he wasn’t going to lose his job. Kingsley made it clear he didn’t want to see his type of behaviour again, and Draco expressed rather enthusiastically that he absolutely wouldn’t before the two of them stepped out.

Harry stood up from the waiting bench on the side of the doors the second he saw Draco, but his shoulders fell when he saw Kingsley there with him. It definitely wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to, and having yet another demerit in his file wasn’t something he was ecstatic about either. But at least Draco hadn’t lost his job, that’s what he’d been most worried about. They made eye contact for a moment, neither of them really knowing what to say before Kingsley told Harry to come back to his office. Even Draco flinched, his voice had been so stern.

Harry hopped up to follow Kingsley back, but before he went into the room, he’d grabbed Malfoy’s arm for a moment and said, “Wait for me,” in a hushed whisper, shooting him a soft look before turning to enter the office. At first, Draco had started to walk away, despite Harry’s request, but he was only a few feet away before he stopped, looking down at the elegantly tiled floor, before turning on his heel and moving to sit on the same bench Harry had sat on. It was still warm, and for some reason, that put a serious pit in Draco’s chest.

Their conversation took a lot longer than the one Draco had with The Minister, and every so often he’d hear the sound of raised voices, muffled by the thick doors separating them, and in that time Draco’s side had managed to lighten up considerably. The icepacks the Ministry was having him work on seemed effective for fast healing after all even if they took longer than Draco had imagined they would. Eventually, it seemed they were finally done, and Harry stormed out alone, almost walking by Draco before stopping in his tracks to turn toward him. “You waited…” he said almost as if in disbelief.

“You asked me to,” Draco responded as he stood up, as if it answered all of Harry’s questions, even though they both knew that they’d expected the blond to leave.

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry smiled gently, moving to walk down the hall as Draco joined him. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Dunno, just am. Makes me think you don’t want to stop giving this a fair shake.”

“This?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Us. Being friends,” Harry responded easily. Draco’s heart started up again in its earlier rapid rhythm, but he supposed on some level Harry was right. He didn’t want to give up so easily, they’d fought over worse before, the scars on his chest giving off a psychosomatic sting.

“Come on Potter, you really think so low of me that I’d give you relief from my company after one fight? We’ve had worse, I’m sorry to say Potty, but you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable.” They both snickered gently as they came upon the elevator. It was such a strange feeling, to be amused with Harry, but it wasn’t one that Draco hated.

“Good, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind coming to have a pint with me then? Or perhaps something stronger? Like maybe a shot to the brain?”

“Ooh, that bad?” Draco asked through a hiss, before hitting the elevator button.

“Not particularly, just a blow to my ego, but still even blows to ones ego deserve a shot every so often don’t they?”

“Amongst other vices,” Draco joked before he could stop himself. Harry didn’t need to know all that now, but it seemed the brunet had only laughed instead of pressing him for more information. “But yeah, pint sounds good. Any place but The Leaky.”

“Got something against The Leaky?” Harry asked a little forcefully, but Draco just shook his head as they both entered the elevator. 

“No I’m banned, they don’t allow anyone with a Dark Mark in there,” he said, waving his tattooed arm up for extra effect. “But I know plenty of Muggle places with better beer than The Leaky anyway, and one or two Wizard places if you prefer that kind of thing. Either way, I’m saying I’m up for a pint if you were being serious.” He turned to look at Harry and found himself struck through the chest at the easy and gentle smile on his face.

“Yeah, I’m being serious. I’d be up for a Muggle pub, can’t say I’ve really been to one.” Draco laughed softly and nudged Harry with his shoulder as they rode the elevator up.

“Alright, consider it my treat Potter. As an apology.”

“Fine, but I’ve got next.”

“Hm? And why’s that?”

“As an apology.” Draco’s words stopped in his throat, any rebuttal he could’ve given died in mind as he looked at Harry, returning his easy smile with a small cocky looking smirk.

“Sounds good to me, Potter.”

As they rode the elevator up, largely in silence, Draco had to wonder about Blaise’s words from Monday evening. Harry seemed so at ease around him now, a far cry compared to how the specky git had been acting all week. He always seemed so tense and unsure around Draco, and somewhere in him, he knew Harry didn’t quite know what to make of their relationship. But in the same turn, Draco didn’t know if Harry really would’ve gone through that discomfort just because he was worried about him. Was this all just an act? What would it even gain him? 

The elevator sounded a sharp _ding_ to signal they’d reached the top, most people had already gone home for the evening. As the pair walked out into the Atrium, now open and empty, Draco turned to Harry for some sense of reassurance, that he wanted to be here, that he wasn’t just doing this out of some misplaced sense of heroism. Harry’s laugh and joke about how if only they’d waited a few more hours to fight, they could’ve had a decent row at each other did some to quell the unease in his stomach, but it’s not like Draco could be sure. He didn’t exactly know Harry well at all to make that kind of judgement.

 _No! Shut up Draco, you’re overthinking. Again!_ Draco admonished himself, turning away sharply so he didn’t have to look at Potter anymore. They took an exit out onto the street, busy as the Muggles themselves were headed home from work. They made small banter at each other, talking aimlessly about their days as Draco led them to his regular haunt, but the nugget of anxiety stayed firmly lodged in his chest. He agreed with Blaise, Monday night that Harry was worried for him after their impromptu meeting. Still, he wasn’t sure that he was alright with that being the only reason for Harry to spend time with him. If they were going to actually be friends, it didn’t seem right for it to be out of pity. Not that Draco knew if it was or wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still some set up for pay off later but I'm getting things going now! And this chapter is longer than the last, so that definitely puts some pep in my step. This is a serious undertaking for me and I want to give it a fair shake. Any encouragement would be lovely!
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer!  
> 'O valley of plenty!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look I'm posting again.
> 
> I'm really sorry for the wait between chapters. I'm trying to be better about it here on out, I've just had a rough go of it recently. First my old laptops battery swole up to unreasonable spicy pillow levels, so I had to get a new one, and then The Depression hit hard and then there was intense Election Anxiety. But I was slowly chipping away at writing this the whole time and now it's ready to put out! Chapter 4 won't take as long, I promise. Or, at least if it does, it won't be without reason. Thank you all for your patience.
> 
> Quick Warning: Draco gets in bed with another man that isn't Harry. I SWEAR Drarry is endgame, I'm just taking my sweet time getting there.
> 
> In other news, I have a beta now! Huge huge thank you ToBoldlyGeek for helping me with this absolute insane undertaking of mine. I cannot thank her enough.

_I let my demons take hold and choke on me  
Can't fill these holes that I'm digging  
Can't stop my heart when it's sinking  
But if I could, then I would  
If I could, then I would  
If I could_

**_Where Am I?_ **

_Soft dirt and cold stone surrounded his body, chilly against his back as he sat up slowly, the ache in his spine only starting to settle in once he’d managed to get himself straight. The sound of chains clinking against stone posts. Cold air, both in temperature and in feeling, shot through him like a ghost, stuffy and clammy against his skin. The chains were empty, there were no bones that scattered the area, but Death surrounded him here. Harsh and suffocating, its hand just inches away from his shoulder. Ready to reel him back beyond The Veil at a moment's notice._

_Hard soles tapped against the floor and almost as quickly as he stepped forward, he toed his shoes off. Unwarranted noise in a place like this was a call to let Death complete its grasp upon his clothes. His head whipped around to survey his surroundings, both foreign and familiar, creeping up his skin. He knew exactly where he was now, and it had been more comfortable when he didn’t._

_He didn’t make it very far until a small girl, about seven or eight years old and clad in a Catholic school uniform appeared before him. The word ‘Mudblood’ written across her ashen skin shone in a harsh red, bright even against the suffocating dark of the Malfoy Manor cellar. There were no other marks on her, but the pit in his chest told him he already knew what had killed her. He turned around, electing to look away from the accusatory dead-eyed stare of the child, only to be faced with a man. Seventeen, he knew off the top of his head, face tear-stained and clothes tattered. They shared classes. The word ‘Mudblood’ marked across his collarbone, the remnants of his brilliant green Slytherin emblem torn to bits._

_The panic had started to settle into the only person truly alive in the room as he swung around, running toward the wrought iron gate that fenced him in his cellar. A couple, old, greying and haggard. His family spent Christmases with them until his father learned of their sympathies. Aunt Bella was not so forgiving, and brought them here herself, tossing him in here as well when he objected to hurting them. “They were old!” He remembered saying, staring them both in their grey and pupil-less eyes, “They’ll die soon anyway!” Nothing that merciful would have ever been alright with Bella._

_He hadn’t killed anyone in the room, but some say Cruciatus was far worse than death. A boy from Ravenclaw he loved to speak to, a woman he knew to be a new mum, an old Teacher who’d left long before he’d even arrived at Hogwarts. None of them had been his kills, but he remembered their screams. Piercing, loud, hot tears streaming down their cheeks, begging for it to stop. He remembered pointing his wand at every single one of them. He remembered saying the Cruciatus Curse over and over and over again in his head if he stopped then the curse would stop. If the curse stopped he’d be the one screaming instead._

_He ran to the front of the room, past the bodies and their silent stares, his heart racing as he moved through the sea. The iron gate further and further away as ten, no, twenty people filled up the cramped space. Luna, Ollivander, and a Goblin whose name he didn’t know finally stood before him, as he broke past the barrier of bodies, but they put up no resistance as he pushed by the trio. Hands grabbing the gate, rattling it against the stone frame. The trio floated away into wisps as he cried desperately, throat raw and eyes burning._

_All the eyes of his victims turned toward him, a quiet wind whipping through the cellar and blowing through him once again before light illuminated the stairways. The bodies stopped, as the new figure descended the stairs, feet tapping with a solitary echo off the cellar walls, before standing in front of the gate. Jet black hair, prominent lightning bolt scar emblazoned on his forehead, a stone-cold steely expression on his face._

_“They won’t kill you Draco, but only just.”_

_The bodies surrounded him, while Draco watched Harry smile, darkness eating away at his sight before a multitude of hands gripped tight at his throat, eating away at his voice_

* * *

Draco woke with a gasp, a sheen of sweat covering his skin while his hand whipped out in front of him, holding his wand with a white-knuckled grip. To the left of him, nothing, to the right, a man sleeping the night away. Breathing rapid, his chest could hardly keep up with him as he got out of bed. The man next to him only moaned before turning away, grasping the plush silken duvet on his bed. _Aberto!_ Draco thought, pointing his wand at the door that led to his bathroom, the lights flicked on as it did, and nothing was there. Save for the sleeping man, Draco was alone. 

His free hand snaked around his throat as he swallowed down his anxiety, thick and obstructive. He could breathe, there were no hands around him, and yet the constricting suffocation he felt so clearly just moments before lingered against his skin. Sinking deep, deep into his trachea. The look on Harry’s face, it put something sour and acidic into the back of his throat. What gave the prat the right to show up in his dreams? Why did it affect him so, to see those eyes so bright and green, emerald hills on a clear day, become dull and lifeless? Taking pleasure in his pain. 

A shaky hand reached out toward the silver door handle leading to his bathroom. Dreams never stuck with you after they were over, yet nightmares cling. To skin, hair, and dark circles already making themselves prevalent under his eyes. For the most part. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom were harsh compared to the moonlit darkness of his bedroom, and to save his nighttime friends comfort he shut the door behind him gently. Even in the harshness though, Draco’s reflection staring back at him seemed withdrawn. The sickly sticky feeling of dried sweat made his skin feel clammy, mind already going back to the many cold dead hands trapping him under their weight. 

Evening out his breath was a losing battle, especially as he stared at himself under the white light. Hair matted with sweat, dark circles under his eyes, the very face of poised exhaustion and abstract suffering. It seemed every time he saw himself he got more and more disgusted with what faced him. And the dark inky tattoo on his left wrist, one that would never leave him, a blemish worse than the silver scars that kept him honest.

His chest rose and fell erratically, the air in the bathroom seemingly getting thinner and thinner as cold clammy hands weighed themselves down on his skin. Draco fell back atop the toilet seat, running his hands over his face and neck, desperately trying to get the invisible touch off him. Hot tears fell from his face in fat droplets, making a barely audible _splish_ against the black granite bathroom tiles, disappearing into the silver flecks decorating its surface. And so they came, once the dam had been opened, racking sobs that hurt his throat and chest the more noise he made. Blunt fingernails trying so hard to scratch at his skin, but to no avail. The hands were still there, sinking deep.

Draco didn’t know how much time had passed, the only indication that he wasn’t frozen in time at all being that his head was now pounding. Every new sob, every new set of tears falling from tired stinging eyes, only exacerbating the hurt that he felt. Hands pressed into his eyes, trying to get them to stop, a visceral feeling he could only get rid of by being hurt. Feeling pain. There was no edge to his nails, but he dragged them down his face anyway, the slight burn enough to make him think it’s what he needed. Scratching pathetically down his neck and collarbone, the dull sting enough to drive the feeling of cold hands crawling over his body away.

That wasn’t good. He wasn’t an idiot.

But in the immediate catharsis, left only with his whines and tears it was enough to make him feel better. If only momentarily. Finally, he was able to catch his breath, taking a moment to sit back while his breathing steadied, though his heart was still going at a breakneck pace. He could feel it thundering against his chest even as he got up to splash water on his face. He ran a wet hand through his hair, trying to bring any life back into it while he told himself to get back to bed.

The bed was useless, sleep was useless. He knew what awaited him when he closed his eyes, and if Draco was honest with himself (which he rarely was), he didn’t want to go back to that cellar. Trapped in a never-ending cycle of consummation and fear. Energy coursed through him, a second, third, fourth wind. Who knew how long he’d managed to stay asleep, but that didn’t matter now. The seconds ticked by as he stood at his sink, the brass glimmering under the bright light while he stared down into his distorted reflection. The only thing to shake him was the noise of a fist rapping against the door.

Another set of quick splashes, rubbing water into his face and hair to try and mask the stain of tears and the dryness that sweat leaves behind, before opening the door to his company. “Ah, so he lives,” the handsome, cocky young man said, folding his arms across his bare chest. 

Draco had to look at him a moment, before catching the paper bracelet on his wrist and the tattoo on his pec that he thought was garish even the night before. Despite his many shots. Nothing could make a tattoo like that, a crest style lion on its hind legs, claws up and mouth agape, hot. Not even Cormac McLaggen, for how much he tried.

Still, Draco wasn’t one to spurn bedtime company. Especially when the rest of him was so gorgeous. And slimy. A real creep, coming up behind Draco all night at the pub and whispering dirty things into his ear. Were he a more virtuous man he might’ve sent McLaggen packing the minute he’d started to nibble on it. But he wasn’t virtuous, not in the least, and the sounds of a man bigger than him damn near begging Draco to ride his cock were enough to make him melt. He never took McLaggen for the type to swing for men, publicly he was happily married to some bint from Hogwarts Draco didn’t bother learning the name of.

This wasn’t the first closeted socialite he’d ridden on the sly, and it wouldn’t be his last.

“You sound relieved, Cormac,” he said cooly, painting a smirk on his face before he leaned over and turned the light off. Bathed in moonlight, one could almost pretend that Cormac wasn’t a complete priggish arsehole. Though Draco could convince himself of anything if he thought it might get him some. “Looking for round three? You did sound _quite_ ecstatic before you so predictably passed out.”

“Git,” Cormac said, but there was no bite behind the remark. Instead, there was only a gleaming smile as he pulled Draco forward by the waist, walking them back to the bed. 

Draco was only a hair shorter than Cormac, though the other man had already spent a good chunk of the night lording that half an inch over him. Nothing changed about him, and that’s just what Draco wanted. The back of Cormac’s calves hit the side of the bed, which Draco used as leverage to get him to sit down while he got into his lap. None too subtly grinding his wakening erection against Cormac’s. A deep moan rumbled in the other man’s throat while Draco got his hand around their cocks.

“Sounds like you’re the one vying for round three, Draco darling.” He’d leaned his head to the side while Draco moved his hips and hand, kissing up to his neck before biting down on his pale skin. A gentle hiss left his parched throat, the earlier feeling of acid still present if he paid enough attention. But that was the point of having Cormac around. So he wouldn’t _have_ to pay attention. He didn’t respond to Cormac’s jab at him, he was right. Very quickly he took a look over at his clock, four in the morning, which meant by the time he was done with a round or two he could have the morning to himself.

Nothing would get him more satisfaction than kicking this prick out of his apartment, once he was done with him.

The whole night he’d been nothing but an arsehole. Feeling Draco up at the pub, grinding on him while they danced. Nothing compared to the unmitigated _gall_ to tell Draco he “Didn’t kiss men,” when he’d already gotten balls deep in him once they’d got back to his flat. But that didn’t matter now, Draco only had a goal to accomplish. Transactional was how he liked to put it. He wanted a nice shag so he could stop thinking. Cormac just wanted a shag with a bloke on the sly. 'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,' type deal.

Precome dripped from them both as the sandy brunet finished marking up Draco’s neck. He seemed to have a thing for marks. Kisses were a no go, but Cormac’s chest was littered with bruises. He might’ve looked good if he didn’t preen so much about it. “Get on your back,” he whispered into Draco’s ear, much like an order. It was everything he could do to not scoff then and there. The very idea of even looking at the man nearly sent Draco’s eyes rolling into oblivion.

Instead, he hopped off Cormac without much of a word before getting on his hands and knees then pressing his chest into the sheets. Cormac’s eyes followed his movements, only to light up when Draco presented himself. Though that’s not how he would’ve thought of it. The added benefit to being fucked from behind was that he didn’t have to see Cormac’s stupid face if he didn’t want to. And Draco didn’t want to.

Imagination was always available to him, however, frowned upon it might have been to think of someone else while getting ploughed. He could pretend that the tip of the cock pressing into him belonged to someone else. He could imagine tanned hands holding him by his hips whilst sliding in. A gentle, softer voice groaning in ecstasy as he got himself buried. Draco could imagine a great many things about whomever else, it didn’t have to be Cormac. He just happened to be around. “Are you going to move or what?” Draco asked, only slightly breathless as he was filled. Already the slight burn of being entered with no preparation was doing enough to take his mind off his unpleasant dream.

Cormac didn’t respond to him, not with words anyway, as he started to piston his hips in and out of Draco at a rather uncomfortable pace. If he hadn’t already been used to it Draco would’ve been shocked, but he was, so he wasn’t. In any case, through the sloppy rhythm of both Cormac’s hips and hand, was still a pleasure to be found. To be filled, stretched out and fucked like he was something to be used for the pleasure of other men. It could’ve been anyone behind him. It certainly felt like any number of the closet cases Draco had dealt with in the past. The who didn't matter, there was only one thing that mattered.

Moans filled up the room, mostly Draco's as Cormac pounded into him. The man got a hand in Draco's hair and though it was absolutely despite himself, he managed to lean into the touch. It was all the affection he'd gotten from Cormac. Next one would have to include intense amounts of snogging. The closet cases usually were the best fucks but they all thought kissing was too real. As if it was any less real to stuff themselves inside him for a night. 

"Ah! There!! Again!" It proved true once again, as Draco got louder, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping hard at his silken sheets.

As if on a timer, not ten seconds after Draco had screamed, Cormac adjusted his pace. Pumping him deep in a spot that made Draco's spine squirm under him. His moans got louder, Cormac more ruthless. His hips a blur inside Draco, his hand matching pace as he jerked Draco off. The blond half hoped Mrs McLaggen got a fuck half as good as this. Her husband was more than skilled. Though it's not like he'd asked Draco what he wanted, it's not like Draco wanted to be asked. 

"Where?" Cormac asked, voice breathless as he hung tightly onto Draco's hips.

"Is that – ah!! Fuck! Is that even a question?? In me! Fuck me through it, please!" Every thrust got Draco's cheek rubbing against his sheets, drool slightly trailing down his mouth as Cormac fucked him through. One, two, three, four sharp thrusts, and it was over. Draco came first, but he was sure Cormac wouldn't have cared if he did or didn’t, spilling out against his abdomen and sheets with a strangled cry. Cormac came just after, filling him full of his cum, watching it slightly spill out of the man under him when he pulled out. 

They were both satisfied, for the moment anyway. There were any number of things to focus on now other than himself. The continued sting at his entrance, the feeling of cum seeping out of him, the fog in his mind as he tried to come down from his orgasm. Cormac was already pulling out a vial of something purple and fragrant from his earlier discarded pants, vying for round four. Not that Draco would turn him down. Near constant stimulation was better than the ache and pain of everything else. "What'll it be love," Cormac said, laying down next to Draco, holding the bottle of fragrance in his hand between them. "Back to bed or are we going all night?" The wickedness in his voice didn't go amiss, but that didn't stop Draco from unstoppering the vial and inhaling its intoxicating scent. Cormac smirked as he inhaled the fragrance in turn, tossing the now closed bottle onto Draco's nightstand.

As Cormac got on top of him, Draco couldn't help but think about what it might have been like to have an entirely different type of person in his bed.

* * *

If hangovers excepted one from showing up to work, Draco had long since decided that his time as a student would’ve been the only productive time in his life. Where once hangovers rolled off his back, they now got him aching and more dead inside than usual. The after-effects of Essence of Vitality were much like a hangover already, but when paired with the grogginess only a night of binge drinking could give, he felt like curling up in his bed might be the only thing to cure him.

That or death. 

To the minds of some that might not have been so bad though, to see the Malfoy lineage die out. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad at all, Draco thought, were it not for pesky relatives many places removed from himself intent upon keeping the family going. There were talks of getting Draco betrothed according to his mum. Fat chance.

Someone like Draco getting married, to a woman no less, hardly made any sense at all.

Still, as close to death as he felt, the way he looked couldn't have been more the opposite. As if Draco would look anything less than his absolute best in front of his co-workers. Not that he had many people he interacted with directly. Work down in the potions lab was usually fairly isolated. Forensics work came easy and any communications happened through memos, he could fill up Auror and Curse Breaker kits with his eyes closed. 

But there were some days out of the norm. Like for example, today, when he'd been up at Level One all day, doing some bureaucratic work. Mostly getting people in the DMLE to sign off on case reports so he could submit them, and to get approval from the Ministry Administration about projects for The Unspeakables. 

A day in front of so many people, aesthetic standards were paramount, otherwise, he wouldn't have minded slumming it in his lab and calling it early for the day. The more he thought about it the more gorgeous it sounded by the second. Wrapped up in his duvet, wearing his comfiest silk robe and watching trash T.V. all day sounded like a dream. Unfortunately, life had other plans for him it seemed, as the next Auror he had to get a sign off from was Potter. Of course, that would be his luck. 

Hesitation coloured his movements as he considered if it was worth it to get all his work done today if it meant he had to see Potter. Before his brain thought about it, his hand already rapped gingerly against the door to his office, and even quicker he was entering before Potter had responded.

"Malfoy!" The greeting rang in his ears, more shrill than he was expecting, before finding that the voice belonged not to Potter, but Ginny Weasley. Currently leaning down toward Harry, an arm around his shoulders in an awkward-looking hug. 

"It's not what it looks like, Draco!" 

Suddenly his features relaxed at Harry's equally awkward declaration, an easy smile coming over his lips. "Oh? Isn't it?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he held his remaining papers in his hand.

"No! No it's– we were just–!"

"I think what my ex-husband is trying to say is, we weren't doing anything salacious, _Malfoy_." The way Ginny said his name, with as much contempt as she could muster, put an angry spark in his gut. He'd never done anything to her. At least not personally.

"Ooh such large words for someone so… lamentably impecunious. I'm only having a laugh. Calm down, lest you become your Quidditch Team’s namesake." 

The smirk on his face was the only levity he had all day. Maybe the universe was ever so slightly on his side after all.

At his statement it seemed both Harry and Ginny took offence, the former tensing his eyebrows at Draco while the latter damn near growled. It'd be sexy if she wasn't such a royal bitch, he thought, looking over the two of them with a distinctly put upon uninterest. "Not that I really care what goes on in your private office, Potter, but if you're going to look like you're about to shag, maybe a lock on the door might do you well–"

"–I already said it wasn't like that, Malfoy," he said, that same disgust of his name colouring his tone in a way that made Draco roll his eyes.

"If it looks like a Thestral, _Potter_." Harry seemed a bit taken aback at the usual, yet unusual, sounding venom in his voice but Draco didn't baulk. "Anyway, I'm just here to get you to sign these. I can't submit my case reports if you lot don't keep up with your paperwork. Perhaps Ginerva here can teach you how to write a proper autograph, hm?"

Despite herself, Ginny did snicker at Draco's implication at Harry's expense, only roused into glaring at Draco once more after Potter gave her a stern look. The blond only smiled at her, however, when he smacked down a sizeable stack of reports on Harry's desk. "I need these done by the end of the hour, Potter. If they aren't I'll break my probation and Hex you into next week–"

"Oh? Is that a threat?" Ginny asked, leaning forward against Harry's table with both hands.

"Damn right it's a threat, Weasel-ette. I have a job to do, and unfortunately, that job requires him to do his job." He turned to Harry with a look of mock-sympathy, eyebrows upturned and an overly dramatic pout. "I'm _so_ sorry O' Chosen One, for this cumbersome burden! The very idea of doing your job must be so taxing!" Harry only rolled his eyes, sliding the stack of papers toward him as Draco turned on his heel back to the door. "Within the hour, I'll be back. Don't forget."

"Oh, I won't." But Draco didn't hear him or the dangerous tone in his voice, already having left Harry's office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry and Ginny's muffled voices could still be heard even through the closed door, and it's not like he was exactly far away . Eavesdropping was not something Draco liked to do often, but the floor was empty for lunch, and it didn't take a genius to know what they were talking about. With questions like, 'Why do you put up with him?' Answered by, 'Dunno anymore. It's like trying to talk to a Skrewt. A pointy-faced, knob-headed, Skrewt.'

The smile that covered his features, the tiny chuckles he felt lift his lungs, all of it deflated once he was alone, accompanied only by Harry's words. Draco was so sure they'd said worse things about each other right to their faces, and yet a tightness filled his chest like a python squeezing his insides in its vice grip. Whatever mood he was in before his brief levity had plummeted. It only felt too good to act like his old persona again, if only for a spell. But the way it tasted in his mouth after was just as acrid as it had always been. Swallowing that particular pill was easier when he was a child, covering up his emotions with snide remarks and quick witticisms were his speciality. The older he got the more the acidity of his venom burned a hole through his chest.

* * *

Paperwork in and of itself wasn’t particularly difficult to do, despite Draco’s insistence of his incompetence. Harry had just never really been told to do it. Most people at the Ministry seemed content to let him work at his own pace. Sloppy paperwork or not, they still let him out into the field, out to catch bad guys, and deadlines were never important. Still, Draco’s sneer got his blood boiling in a way that he hadn’t felt since school. To think a simple expression could get him tumbling down like he was fifteen all over again, ready to shed off his tie and robes and deck the poor bastard,

“Honestly Harry,” Ginny said, looking over the papers strewn across Harry’s desk as he snatched up the pile, causing a few flyaways. “Why do you put up with him?”

“Dunno anymore. It’s like trying to talk to a Skrewt. A pointy-faced, knob-headed, Skrewt.”

The sound of Draco’s heels tap-tap-tapping away from the door invaded his ears, and though he tried his very hardest not to think about the prat, he had to wonder if he’d heard them. Ginny sighed rather dramatically, her eyes cast toward the door wearing a stern expression on her face. “Is it worth it, d’you think? Especially if he’s going to be acting like a right git all the time.”

“He’s never _not_ acting like a right git,” Harry answered matter-of-factly, signing away his name in designated spots on the page in front of him. But as he thought about it he had to stop, turning over Ginny’s question in his head. A disquieting pit settled itself deep into Harry’s stomach, eating away at his resolve of anger against the ferret before a sigh spilt over his lips. “You should’ve seen him.”

“What? At that concert?”

“Yeah. He looked… You tell me, what did you see when he was here just now?”

Ginny looked down at Harry with pursed lips, while Harry looked at the door. His hair fell into his eyes, small little strands plucking themselves away from his messy topknot. Leave it to Harry to have perpetually messy hair. Indulging in Harry’s many musings over the years about Draco was never one of Ginny’s favourite activities, in fact, she distinctly remembered that being part of the reason they’d split. Sometimes though, she just couldn’t help but feed that small spark in her ex-husbands gut. “...I dunno. Specky? Bit like a ponce? He seems the same to me.”

“There’s… something off. About him. That night in front of that venue or whatever, he seemed so alive.”

“That’s usually what happens when you go have fun, Hazzah. You should try it sometime,” Ginny snorted, turning to lean against the desk and looking down at Harry.

“Not like that Gin. He said he wanted to waste away. He said it was a good thing that I didn’t want to stop him.”

“Ah, the Malfoy finally speaks sense!” Her burst of giggles quieted when Harry whipped his head around to give her a pointed look, but she still wore a smirk on her face. “Look, Harry, if Malfoy wants to pish his life away then why should that be a bad thing? All the man’s done is make your life miserable. Why should it be up to you to save him?”

All Harry could manage was a half-hearted hum as a response, as non-committal as he could make it. In his head, he knew Ginny had a point. In the still unfinished story of his life, Draco had always acted more of a foil than a friend. But Harry had never seen him as an enemy, at least not in the way Voldemort was an enemy. He was a dickhead, an arsehole, the kind of pretentious jerk one meets in their life and one shouldn’t care if that jerk ended up in jail, or worse. There were a great many things Harry had wanted to say in response but found he couldn’t say them. The rest of their conversation during her visit devolved into Quidditch, catching up on each other's lives, and Harry gave her a hearty congratulations on her engagement to Luna.

Still, he’d been completely out of line, attacking Ginny like that. There was always a place for revulsion in his heart toward Draco.

The hour came and went but Draco was at the Ministry no longer. Told Robards in the DMLE and Shockley in Mysteries he'd be a day late on his paperwork. Told his assistant he was taking an early day, who promptly told Harry once he'd come down to the Forensics lab to hand in his papers to Malfoy himself after the pointy git hadn't come up to get them himself as promised. The anger he had toward Malfoy had faded slightly, but only just, and worry crept up alongside where it lived in his chest. What gave Malfoy the right to strut into _his_ office like he owned the bloody place, insult him and one of his best mates, and then have the gall to _leave_ before Harry could face him?? Maybe Harry had just been thinking about it too much in the past few hours or so, maybe it only made him angrier.

Coward. The man had always been and would always be a _coward_ , Harry thought bitterly as he took an early day himself. Intent upon finding the bloody ferret and giving him a piece of his mind. Draco could never avoid him in school, and Harry didn't see any reason why that should change now. Stupid prat. Who did the git think he was?? Storming into Harry's office making demands like that, in his swishy robes, and perfectly styled hair. Smelling like sage and ginger and sandalwood and something that made Harry dizzy whenever he was around.

It was infuriating. That even now Draco managed to worm under his skin like an effing parasite. Stick on into his brain matter and feed off all the thoughts Harry expended toward his existence. 

Which, as of late, were many. 

Ever since meeting him in that alley almost a month ago, Harry had hardly been able to stop thinking about him. It was a side of Draco he hadn't seen since. Even when they went out for drinks the one time, Harry got no warning signals from him like he had that night. Where had that Draco gone? Was it just a fluke? Why was Harry busy scouring through employee files, just to get Draco's address?

_To go bother him. Git doesn't get to embarrass me in front of Ginny and get away with it, does he?_

That seemed justification enough. It was justification for six years of his life, it was good enough now.

And it seemed good enough for the filing Witch who sat posted in front of the records room to prevent this exact kind of thing from happening. But Harry wasn't the ordinary stalker, he was The Chosen Stalker. He hated The Chosen One thing, but he had to admit it worked wonders for him. Turn on the charm, flash a winning smile, perhaps move his hair just so to show off the scar a bit– People hardly ever said no.

Not that he used it often. So he'd say, anyway. He was sure if Hermione ever found out he was still getting free Ice Creams from Florean Fortescue's grandson, she'd kill him on the spot. And as of now, Harry wasn't totally sure he wouldn’t deserve it.

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed triumphantly, having finally found Draco's file. The excitement on his face melted into mild surprise as he saw the listed address; not Malfoy Manor, but a place called _Argentis_. Luxury flats and condominiums, it said on the byline next to 'Description.' Harry's knowledge of Latin began and ended with spellwork, but he was pretty sure it was Latin for something.

_Probably means 'pompous tit'_ , he thought bitterly, scribbling the address down before leaving The Ministry for the day. He probably should've notified someone. Robards, Kingsley, Hermione, Ron, anyone really, that he was leaving. Though he found it easier when he didn't have to tell anyone. Not many people got in Harry's way when he was on a mission, and it wasn't like Robards cared too much what he was up to as long as he got his work done.

Muggle London was not somewhere he came often, mainly because he was almost always too bogged down with work. Thick darkness and dirty alleyways and ramshackle dens were where Harry saw himself most often these days, chasing down bad guys, making the Wizarding World even safer than he already had. The career choice was hell on his back and knees and shoulders, but if he was honest with himself he didn't feel qualified to do much else. So on the occasional night out, Harry came to Muggle London, where no one knew him, or his past, or how he'd defeated a wizard psychopath intent upon genocide. He suspected that Draco must have felt the same way, as he walked up to the large gleaming white tower of his flat building, surrounded by people who had no idea who he was or where he came from.

Empathising with Draco Malfoy was not something Harry expected he'd be doing on this little adventure, but he was sure those thoughts would come to a halt soon.

The lobby was pristine. Dark granite floors, marble walling, even the bloody elevator seemed in perfect nick as Harry stepped inside. He was surprised no one had accosted him yet, looking the way he did, all scruffy and mismanaged. Hair in a messy looking bun, beard short but unkempt and wild. He hadn't even thought to change out of his Auror clothing, but luckily for him in mid-day it seemed everyone else was working. Leaving him to look garish in front of people who didn't know any better. 

The ride up to the sixth floor was silent and uneventful, so imagine his surprise when instead of a hallway of doors to many flats, he was greeted with only one door. The sign at the bottom did say luxury, Harry supposed it was his fault he thought the pretentious git might _deign_ to live any way that required him to share even the most minimal of spaces with Muggles. All at once, that same irritation he'd seemed to let go at The Ministry came back full force as he knocked on the frosted glass double doors. The only thing separating his world from Malfoy's.

Draco seemed like such a mystery now, that is to say, more than he was when they were children. At one point Harry thought he'd had Draco figured out, but even back then he was wrong. The chill in his eyes was gone, replaced with something much emptier. Sadness tinged his movements and everything he seemed to surround himself with felt cold. Almost dead. Lifeless. Their first, and as yet, last pint together every move Draco made was slow. Weighed down by something invisible and impossibly heavy. The sighs he gave, all racking his body, all giving Harry a shudder and a set of goosebumps flying up his arm. But the person he met that night in a back alley by a concert he'd had no business being near, that person was alive, excited and everything Harry expected. It felt so wrong for Draco.

Then again, he was hardly the person who knew what was _right_ for Draco.

From the other side came an intensely disgruntled noise, accompanied by the shuffle of clothing and– were those bottles he heard clattering in the back? 

There weren't many things Harry thought of Malfoy off the bat, but messy was never one of them. Yet the stumbling to the door and the sight of him as he opened the door, dishevelled, drunk, and wearing nothing but his pants and a silk robe on, messy was the only way to describe this.

Silence permeated between them for a moment, laying thickly in the air, before Draco gave him a contemplative up and down and walked away from the door leaving it open for him. Harry could only take that as an invitation, and stepped beyond the threshold, closing the door behind him. Draco’s flat looked just like how Harry had always imagined it. Large, decorated with very modern-looking furniture, all open concept through the living area, though it was far messier than he expected. If the curtains weren’t drawn shut, the place would’ve been flooded with afternoon light, but as it stood it only looked gloomy. Indeed Draco himself looked far messier than he'd seen him this morning. Irritated looking eyes all puffy and red, stared at him with curious indignation that almost sent shivers up Harry's spine.

Almost.

Harry looked around a little further at the flat, the mess was just largely clothing, some of which didn't much look like it belonged to Draco. He certainly couldn't imagine someone like Draco in the mesh shirt he spotted hanging over the barstool at his kitchen island. Unless he was talking about the Concerning Draco stood outside a concert hall seemingly high out of his mind. That bloke he could absolutely see in a mesh shirt. Bottles, ranging from broken to half empty, littered the floor in various places, though mostly by the kitchen. On the couch, it just seemed like standard apartment mess, clothing, mail on coffee tables, glasses that hadn't been put away, but he could also spot a rack of CD's that seemed to have been knocked over. And at least two or three broken plates. "You look like shite," Harry said, giving one more cursory glance around before turning to face the sneer that greeted him.

"Thanks, is that what you came here to say?" Draco asked, a distinct rasp covering the edges of his voice.

"Yeah, and that you were bang out of order earlier."

"Such is a speciality of mine, to be going much too far. What're you actually here for?"

"You know, contrary to your belief, the world doesn't actually revolve around you."

" _And yet_ ," he started, turning to lock the door before walking past Harry, flicking on the light switches on a wall by the kitchen, "You're here, Potter. So clearly at least your world revolves around me just a little, or you wouldn't be wasting your time, would you?"

Light immediately flooded the living room/kitchen area, and even further than that to the dining area just behind the standing fireplace. Of course, Draco would be connected to The Floo here. Probably easier to get to work if he didn't have to see many other wizards, Harry guessed, thinking it might have been a good idea to connect his own grate to The Ministry's network. The blue light immediately left, and while Harry strangely missed it, it seemed Draco missed it more, wincing as the sharp brightness of his LED's blinded him momentarily.

"Shove off Malfoy, you said you'd be back to pick up your paperwork."

"This is about paperwork?" Draco asked, leaning forward against the black marble island, interlocking his fingers together. There seemed to be a ghost of a smile on his face, and Harry knew he'd done something beyond stupid.

"Obviously. What else would I be here for?" That was an obvious lie, but Harry didn't have an immediate comeback for him. Not that Draco needed to know that. 

All the other man did was hum softly, turning away from Harry and toward his fridge behind him. Grey, and cold, just like the rest of him. "Well now that you're here," he asked, the hoarse grit still evident in his voice, "Shall I get you something to drink? What do Chosen One's drink anyway? M'afraid I'm all out of Ambrosia or whatever it is you people stomach, but how about some Pumpkin Juice? Wine? Do Chosen One's bother with such paltry fair?" The enjoyment didn't go unnoticed by Harry, but part of him wanted to let Draco have it if nothing else.

"Oh piss off Malfoy! Why do you always have to do that? It's not like I asked for this bloody 'Chosen One' nonsense," Even if part of him wanted to have it, Harry would never give him the satisfaction.

"Dear Potter, that's exactly why I do it! I'm not about to go worshipping the very ground you walk on like everyone else."

"I'm not asking you to! But do you really have to go take the mickey out of me for it? I didn't ask for this any more than anyone else."

"Yes! Yes I do."

"Why?"

At that Draco clammed up, and it was only then that Harry had realised he'd come flush up against the island counter opposite Draco. That he saw Draco's knuckles go from white to slightly red as he unclenched his fists, only catching a glimpse of the crescent moon shaped indents in his palm. That he saw Draco's eyes go wide, slack, then turn downcast and hard again as he turned away from Harry, crossing his arm and facing the fridge. There was a reputation he had for not being observant, and true enough Harry wasn't nearly as observant as he maybe should've been as a teenager. As an adult though, he saw things, but it was very rare that he understood what they meant.

And Draco had always been his greatest mystery.

The air grew thick with tension as Draco shrank back, and Harry attempted to curb his flare-up. A strange ticking from a clock on the far wall seemed to grow louder and louder as it seemed neither of them wanted to breathe. Strings inside them pulled taut as the tension grew, and it seemed neither man wanted to let down a guard they didn’t know they’d put up. 

After what seemed like a million years of standing in awkward aching silence, the first noise came from a sharp swing of Draco’s wand, pulling a wine glass from the coffee table, and into Draco’s empty hand. “If it’s alright with you then, Potter,” Draco said after a gentle sip, licking away the remnants of wine off his lip. “I’d like to drown my sorrows alone.” Whatever the reason Harry was here anymore, Draco didn’t care.

Harry bristled, however, quirking an eyebrow as he started to put the mess together. “...Why did you come home, early, Draco?”

A shrug. “Had a bad hangover, I have tomorrow off. Thought the best way to fix it might be drinking myself silly tonight, and sleeping the day away tomorrow.” Only part of that was true, but whatever Harry thought might’ve been a lie didn’t matter. What did matter was the sigh of contentment Draco got the second he took another sip, this one larger, and the satisfied groan that followed. As the gears turned in Harry’s head, however, slowly meshing their cogs together, Draco flicked his eyes upward, only to let out a defence of his statement. “Oh! Don’t read too much into that! All you Gryffindors, thinking you’re so bloody virtuous! It’s not wrong to want to indulge yourself.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry agreed, walking around the edge of the counter to Draco, before getting his hand around the stem of the glass and pulling it away. “But it looks like you’ve indulged yourself enough.”

“Oh have I? And you know this for a fact? You’re not my mother, Potter,” Draco snarled, doing his best to hide the ache Harry’s words gave him, doing his best to snatch the glass back, though it seemed Harry was quicker, pulling it away for a sip of his own. Were they in a club Draco might have found that sexy. But because they were in his kitchen, it was distinctly un-sexy.

“Don’t have to be to know you’ve been drinking since you got back, haven’t you? How are you not completely pissed yet?”

“I have a high tolerance,” he said by his only way of explanation. It seemed to have completely passed his mind his wand was sitting right next to him. A fact Harry had no issue exploiting as he finished off the wine, chucking the glass in the sink. “So what, are you going to stay here until I sober up and start feeling better, Potter?”

“Yes actually.”

“Hilarious. Did you like the wine? Had your fill? Then get out of my flat.”

“Not until you drink a bloody glass of water. Have you eaten today?”

Damn him and his hero complex. Damn him that he cared so much about Draco bloody Malfoy that they ended up arguing in his kitchen while Harry raided his (frankly pathetically stocked) fridge. Damn him that they continued arguing even after Draco relented and let Harry stay. Damn him that he couldn’t bring himself to care less about the blond, begrudgingly complimenting an omelette he’d made on the fly just to get some food into him. He hadn’t seen the same Malfoy as he had in the alley, he’d seen one much more concerning. Two in the afternoon and if Harry had counted correctly, he’d already finished two bottles of Muggle wine. Circe only knew what Draco might’ve been like on the Wizard stuff.

Damn him that he couldn’t bring himself to leave Draco’s flat, that he couldn’t bring himself to leave well enough alone. That of all the things in the world for him to be doing at the moment, Harry was content to be here. Helping a very grumpy, very irritated, very red looking Draco, come down from something far worse than a little indulgence.

Not that Harry knew that for a fact. Not that Draco thought he was showing too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy to be back to posting again. I kinda went overboard with this chapter, and I'm not sure how I feel about that ending, but I knew if I kept needling away at it, I'd never post it, so this is me drawing the line in the sand. 
> 
> I swear I am gonna get these two together if it kills me. Thanks again to ToBoldlyGeek and to you all for being so patient! And as always:
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer!  
> 'O valley of plenty!


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